


Don't Explain

by Taylor Dancinghands (tdancinghands)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Angst, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tdancinghands/pseuds/Taylor%20Dancinghands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These were the lies they'd long ago agreed to believe from each other. Without them, Illya did not think their partnership could have survived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Explain

_Hush now, don't explain_  
I know you raise Cain  
I'm glad your back,  
don't explain 

Illya supposed that Napoleon thought he was being quiet, though if he hadn't been drunk he would have known that he wasn't. All those things Illya could detect from the sound of the key in the lock of their hotel room, the way the door was closed and relocked, the unsteady footsteps as his partner moved around the room in preparation for bed. Illya also supposed that Napoleon wasn't fooled by his own unmoving form in the bed they shared, pretending to be asleep.

In the cold light of day they might both agree that Illya's concerns were baseless, and that since the affair had been concluded successfully, there was no reason why Napoleon shouldn't show this week's Damsel no longer In Distress a good time. Never mind that they'd planned a dinner together to celebrate death and disaster averted once again. Never mind that Napoleon had cancelled —again— with a scant hour's notice.

Nothing would be said about it in the morning. Napoleon would not apologize for coming in late, or making noise, or for reeking of sex. Illya would say nothing about how he had lain awake, waiting for his partner's return from his latest conquest and would never, ever speak of the relief he felt, every time he heard that drunken key in the lock. Illya would instead pretend that Napoleon was as quiet and discreet as he attempted to be and Napoleon would pretend that he didn't know Illya waited up for him. 

These were the lies they'd long ago agreed to believe from each other. Without them, Illya did not think their partnership could have survived.

 

_Quiet, don't explain_  
You mixed with some dame  
Skip that lipstick  
Don't explain 

There was no more loyal an agent in all of UNCLE than Napoleon Solo and Illya appreciated this. If Napoleon said, "Hang tight; I'll be back with the keys and have you out in ten minutes," Illya knew he'd practically be able to set his watch by it. 

When his partner said, "You get the guards on the left, I'll get the ones on the right and we'll meet at the back door," Illya never doubted that his partner would be exactly where he said he would be. And when he handed Illya whatever vital bit of information or technology they'd risked their lives for this time, and said, "Go, run! I'll set the charges and meet you back at the safehouse in an hour," Illya ran, with the peace of mind that came with the absolute trust he had in his partner. He knew, with professional pride, that Napoleon would say the same of him as well.

When, on the other hand, Napoleon would say, "Hey Partner, how about we get together for a beer and pizza tomorrow night," or "Wanna come over to my place to watch the big game on Saturday?" or "Say, let's try that new Greek deli for lunch today," Illya knew by now that it was better to have alternative plans in place.

Oh, Napoleon kept those engagements, _most_ of the time. That was made it so maddening when he would suddenly appear at the door of their office, as often as not with this week's eye-candy on his arm, and charmingly back out of his previous commitments. Try as he might, Illya could not make himself not care.

It wasn't as if Illya hadn't learned to distance himself emotionally from events and memories in his life which caused him pain. Illya Kuryakin, the 'Ice Prince' of UNCLE, was past master of this art. All this notwithstanding, he could not manage to distance himself from his partner. Perhaps it was because he'd come to find him so trustworthy in the field, when his life was on the line. Perhaps it was because Illya was no more immune to the famous 'Solo Charm' than any of the countless women he bedded, or perhaps it was because of those occasional nights, when Illya saw a different side of his partner.

On those nights, Napoleon would take the girl home after the opera or the evening of dancing or the dinner at a four star restaurant, and drop her off with a kiss on the doorstep. Sometimes he'd hit the bars first, so he was often drunk when he showed up at Illya's, but he was always remorseful. Catching himself in the mirror in Illya's coat closet doors, Napoleon would notice the lipstick on his shirt collar, or on his cheek, and call himself vile things. He would lower himself, head in hands, onto Illya's sofa and ask how Illya could stand to be in the same room with him, much less be partners.

Illya would say nothing, only taking Napoleon into his arms to forgive him, again and again and again. When they speak, they speak only truth between each other at such times, and when Illya kisses his partner and they make love later in the night, they do it with all their hearts, scars, foibles and faults, all in the open for anyone to see.

 

_You know that I love you_  
And what love endures  
All my thoughts are of you  
For I'm so completely yours 

Napoleon would never, ever call himself a homosexual, much less bisexual —a thing he probably doesn't believe in. He has never let Illya fuck him, though he fucks Illya and gives him blow jobs with equal enthusiasm. It's always on his terms, at his say-so.

Before Illya, Napoleon used to go to certain unsavory bars when he felt the need to scratch that particular itch, in spite of how stupidly risky it was, for him and for UNCLE. Illya is fairly sure that this is why he was initially partnered with Napoleon. Illya, at least, knew himself to be a man of perverse desires and had learned to be discreet. His KGB superiors had long suspected him of being a _'ghomosexualist'_ , but never caught him in the act. When UNCLE came recruiting, the KGB had been more than happy to part with him. Waverly, on the other hand must have been overjoyed to find him: an experienced agent qualified to be partnered with UNCLE's Chief Field Operative, pretty enough and probably willing to let his partner make use of his other assets from time to time, and discreet into the bargain.

Illya figured this all out quickly enough, long before Napoleon did. Napoleon never quite believed that Waverly could be so coldly manipulative, preferring the theory that their pairing had been more a matter of happy chance. Illya knew better and deep down inside, so did Napoleon. The thing was, that Illya should have resented being unofficially assigned the position of Napoleon's 'rent boy'… but he didn't. Contrarilly, 'Napoleon the Narcissist' shouldn't have minded in the least using his conveniently available partner to satisfy his less wholesome urges whenever he could no longer ignore them… but he did.

It would have been more comfortable for both of them, if their relationship were nothing more than the matter of convenience that they both made it out to be. Most days they were able to live by this fiction, but then there were days that they could not. Invariably, they were the worst days.

Days like today, when Napoleon was in serious danger of not keeping one of those important promises.

"I just have to make sure the lab is destroyed," Napoleon had said, handing Illya the bracelet with the microdot in the clasp. "I'll meet you back at the Konevova St safehouse before sunrise." The microdot had to be delivered to UNCLE, and the lab destroyed —both these outcomes were of central importance to the current mission. Illya had not hesitated in leaving his partner to do what looked like a fairly unconventional mop-up. Illya knew as well as anyone, however, that even the most conventional of operations can go sideways at a moment's notice. The sun was now peering over the dingy back alleys of Prague, glinting with painful brightness off the light patches of snow decorating the rooftops, and there was still no sign of Napoleon.

 

_Cry to hear folks chatter_  
And I know you cheat  
Right or wrong, don't matter  
When you're with me, sweet 

It was almost amusing to follow the UNCLE office buzz about their half open secret. Initially, the consensus Illya had gathered from overheard gossip around the water-cooler was that Napoleon was to be pitied, for having been saddled with such a cold-fish of a partner: Illya Kuryakin, the Russian Ice Prince. Then, with the passage of time, the tables had turned. Now it was 'poor Illya' the loyal 'wife', left at home while his partner filandered his way through UNCLE, New York city, even missions.

Illya, naturally, found both suppositions laughable... most days. He had his own dalliances when he felt the urge, but kept them out of the public eye. What he has with Napoleon is something other than a dalliance, however, and Napoleon, he knows, is similarly afflicted. Hence the promises.

"None of them mean anything, Illya, I swear," was Napoleon's lament, time and time again. "Yes, they're beautiful and sexy and always eager… but I don't _feel_ anything for them. I don't feel anything at all. You're the only one who's _real_. You're the only one who can make me _feel!_ "

It's Illya's theory that Napoleon is always 'on' when he's with his women conquests. On stage, on call, in character and never genuine. He's an actor on a stage and the women are each little challenges. It's mainly for the thrill of the hunt, Illya thinks, and it's the thrill that Napoleon is addicted to. This addiction is why Napoleon will never stop, in spite of his promises, and in spite of the fact that there are other, more fundamental needs that these pursuits do not fulfil. It is when these trite thrills no longer suffice that Napoleon comes to Illya.

Napoleon knows that it doesn't matter what state he's in when he shows up, either. Illya has known Napoleon at his best and his worst. Illya can take Napoleon angry, drunk, violent, in every sort of ugly mood and gives back as good as he gets. Napoleon doesn't have to worry about breaking Illya, or offending him, or even disgusting him. He knows Illya has been and done the same or worse. When they make love, they do not make love gently.

In the end, Illya needs this as much as Napoleon does. It is for this reason that a future without his partner does not bear considering. It is for this reason that Illya is having to consciously will himself not to desperately pace the short length of their fourth story safe-house flat. The sun is well over the horizon now, which means that Napoleon is officially late. Illya will not (yet) speculate on what might have gone wrong, but he is beginning to run the calculus of when to go back for Napoleon, by what route, and whether to notify UNCLE of his decision. He has not gotten far in the process, however, when he hears a sound at the door.

 

_Hush now, don't explain_  
Just say you'll remain  
I'm glad your back,  
don't explain 

It is not a knock that Illya hears, but more like the sound of something soft and heavy falling against the door. He draws his UNCLE special just the same, waits a beat, then carefully pulls the door open. The body which had been slumped against the door when he opened it falls in. Naturally it is Napoleon.

He is hatless and dusted in snow, and demonstrably not dead as he seems to be shivering violently. Illya utters his partner's name as though it were a curse as he deposits his gun on the table by the door and drops to Napoleon's side, pulling him the rest of the way through the door so that it may be closed.

"She tried to poison me!" Napoleon gasps, managing to sound outraged in spite of the tremors wracking him.

"Again," Illya mutters with annoyance. There is no need to ask who 'she' is.

Illya gets Napoleon over to the sofa, divests him of his coat and quizzes him about the delivery method and initial effects of the poison so that he can choose the correct one of the broad array of antitoxins provided in the extensive UNCLE first aid kit. It goes to work fairly quickly, so that Napoleon is able to help a little as Illya strips him out of the rest of his clothes and into a hot bath to counteract the hypothermia. The hot water and the antitoxin finally put an end to the muscle spasms. Eventually Illya can hear Napoleon's breathing ease and even out so he knows his partner is out of danger.

When the water has gone tepid Illya bundles his exhausted partner out of the bath and into pyjamas and then bed. He thinks Napoleon is already sleeping as he lays his head on the pillow, but he turns his head and blinks as Illya stands away from the bed.

"I swear, I've learned my lesson," Napoleon says, speech slurred with fatigue. "I don't know why I keep… but I promise, Illya, it's the last time. She won't play me for the fool again."

Illya knows he means it, and is touched, as he is every time. It doesn't matter that all these promises will be forgotten the next time Napoleon sees her. Why? Maybe he is as much a moth to her flame as Illya and all those other women are to Napoleon's. Illya knows that he will always return to Napoleon's side, no matter how many thoughtless cruelties Napoleon visits upon him. He does not waste his considerable mental facilities on wondering why, for he knows that there will never be a satisfactory answer. Such things simply are.

For now, he can be tender with his partner, and bends to kiss his forehead, murmuring soft words of comfort. Illya had long ago learned to seize any moments of pleasure as they come, before he had become a secret agent of any kind. Rare are the moments that Napoleon will accept such affectionate gestures from anyone and Illya cherishes this one.

It has been a long night for both of them and Illya anticipates being able to hold his partner as he sleeps, as he is not often allowed to. He checks the locks, calls into headquarters to report all missions accomplished and agents accounted for, then strips down to t-shirt and shorts to crawl into bed next to his partner. As he had hoped, Napoleon snuggles close, soaking in Illya's warmth as Illya wraps his arms around the man he loves, in spite of everything.

They will never speak of this, or any other moments like it, but Illya has never cared about that. He has everything he could ever want, closed in the circle of his arms. As the morning light seeps between the slats of the window blinds, Illya hears church bells ringing throughout the city, tolling in the first day of the new year. For the moment he is content. He will never ask for anything more.

_Hush now, don't explain_  
You're my joy and pain  
My life; your love  
Don't explain 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Listen to the song here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxwJ9lh-id4)
> 
> I thought of Napoleon and Illya the very first time I heard this song,long before I ever considered writing in this fandom. I knew I wanted _someone_ to write a songfic for it, but it was a while before I figured out how to make it work myself. It is, as a matter of fact, my very first songfic. Also, very likely my only songfic, though one never knows.'
> 
> This song was written by Billie Holiday, and is sung by her in the video attached. Other artists who've covered it have subsequently tweaked some of the words, particularly the second lines of the first two verses. That's the version you uniformly find when you look for the lyrics online. I've used Billie's original words in the first four stanzas you see here, as I found them even more apt to the story I wanted to write. Then I decided that I also liked the newer version of the first verse, and that I wanted one more section for my story, so I inserted it just before the last verse, which remains unchanged in pretty much all the versions.
> 
> To close, I would like to mention that I probably would never have heard this wonderful song if I wasn't a regular listener to SOMA FM's [Secret Agent](http://somafm.com/secretagent/) streaming radio station. Surely required listening for all UNCLE fans! And they're commercial free, so they could use your support too.


End file.
